


Heroes and Villains:  Of Debts and Deviance

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [4]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Light Bondage, alternate universe - heroes and villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further <strike>mis</strike>adventures of The Captain and the Siren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes and Villains:  Of Debts and Deviance

_This will either be the best idea I ever had or the worst idea I ever had_ , she had said to Joe before preparing to open the doorway into Purgatory. Then again it was Joe's fault she was doing it in the first place. If it ended up being a bad idea, she would not feel guilty casting it all on him.

_I think he's just lonely_ , Joe had said. _He just stays inside most of the time. The guy has panic attacks if I try to get him to go somewhere in the truck_ , he had pointed out. _Hell, last time I tried to take him somewhere, he did a tuck and roll before we got out of the driveway._ On one occasion Joe had been pacing restlessly, _The guy practically melted into a puddle last week when his nurse friend from Tarrytown came to visit and greeted him with a hug_.

Then there was the occasion The Captain had mentioned just wanting to sneak into Purgatory to get his wife.

It would certainly explain his behaviour when they were alone in the masonic cell. Well, sort of. At least, Abbie reasoned, if he was lonely that would _probably_ suggest the guy was a bit pent up.

Abbie had also reasoned, maybe, if she went in, got his wife, and brought her back... maybe The Captain would simmer things down a little. Maybe he would see that there was a reason to fight _with_ her in the Apocalypse.

_Boy had Joe fucked up_.

  
#  


Ichabod sat on his bed, eyes wide as he watched the colourful characters on the tiny screen of the “portable dvd player” Master Corbin had provided him. He was leaned against the headboard of the bed, knees curled to his chest, arms around his legs watching with fascination as a little girl adopted an alien from the animal shelter.

At some point, whilst the little girl was teaching the alien about someone called 'Elvis,' Katrina returned from... whatever the hell it was Molly and the others had her doing. He didn't even bother paying her any attention whilst she prepared herself for bed. She had made it very clear she needed to focus on making herself a stronger and more powerful witch for the times to come, so he wasn't particularly expecting anything.

Nor was he _wanting_ anything at that point either. Especially when he had already seem what happened last time he sired a child. Oh, yes, that's right... apparently Katrina had been with child when he perished and now said child was a grown man filled with bitterness. Oh, and evil. And capable of manipulating and guilting Katrina into helping Moloch.

Lovely. Wonderful. Ichabod just added it to the list of _Things no one saw fit to inform him_. At every turn he was learning everyone had made every effort to control every aspect of his life. At this point he suspected his parents had demanded his conception and birth out of sheer spite, just so every tiny bit of his life was under someone else's command.

It seemed the only people who had no desire to try and control him were his dear friend Nurse Latisha, Master Corbin, Miss Jenny, and—Heavens help him—The Siren. They had been the ones to provide him with _options_ and let him choose freely.

“What are you doing, my love?” Katrina asked softly, as she eased onto the other side of the bed. Her eyes went to the little screen and she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Turn that off, please... It is required that I get restful sleep and I will not be able to do so with such noise.”

Ichabod slowly looked her way, eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps it would be more suitable for you to sleep elsewhere,” he grumbled.

Katrina shifted closer to him, placed a hand upon his bare shoulder as she reached over and closed the player. After everything he had endured since awakening in this century, normally he was receptive to anyone who wished to touch him. However, at this juxtaposition, he was fighting the urge to pull away. “Ichabod,” she said softly. “You know as well as I that it is pointless to fight. Even the book of Revelation says destruction will come one way or another.”

“Yet, despite this, the other Witness continues to fight,” Ichabod replied. “And often succeeds, might I be bold enough to add?”

Katrina shook her head. “Not for long,” she said. “So put an end to your attempts to rebel and simply help us achieve what is already written. Anything else shall only end in heartache.”

Ichabod sucked in a breath then finally shrugged her hand off of his shoulder. He quietly gathered the player and unplugged the device. “Since you shall not seek slumber elsewhere, I shall take this to the parlour.”

Without another word, he juttd his nose into the air, left the room and found a quiet nook to finish the film. He may have already resigned to his fate but he was _not_ going to help Moloch. Instead, he opted to continue enjoying the light hearted tale of a little girl and her alien dog. After a short while, he realized it was not as light hearted as initially perceived. In fact he felt deceived by Mister Disney and planned on having many words with Master Corbin on why he would love such a film!

By the end, Ichabod had added it to his growing list of favourites, near the top between The Lion King and Ella Enchanted.

  
#  


Abbie groaned and rubbed her eyes. Her throat was starting to hurt from having to give herself a nasally voice that The Captain wouldn't recognize. “Sorry, sir, but I told you the last four times you called... I specialize in cases dealing with the supernatural and occult.” _I am not going to hunt myself down for you_. “I don't care how much you are willing to pay, I am not taking your case.”

Jenny was standing close by filing a folder from a job they had recently finished. She looked ready to fall out laughing.

When she finally got him off the damn phone, Abbie groaned with frustration. “He is one persistent mother fucker. Why the hell did you guys give him my number?”

Jenny finally couldn't hold it in any more and burst out laughing. “You should take the case. Seriously. Maybe throw him a little clue here and there that he can follow up on and it's a dead end? You have to admit, it'd keep him busy. Too busy to get in the way when you're trying to stop the _real_ threats to Sleepy Hollow.”

Abbie thought about it a moment. “He _is_ the real threat, Jenny. The longer he holds out choosing a side the harder it gets for me to fight these crazy supernatural creatures alone. And everything is saying we'd be stronger working together.”

“Maybe everything is wrong. Maybe you're strong enough on your own,” Jenny said. “I mean, you're not doing bad with mine and Joe's help. Besides, do you _really_ want someone like him on your side? What if when all is said and done, he turns against you again? Or, God forbid, you get in _real_ trouble and reclaims his path of 'nope, not doing it...' and you're just left hanging or worse, dead.”

If she searched her soul, Abbie knew good and damn well why she was wanting to get him on her side. And it had nothing to do with Prophesies and demons. Okay, maybe it had a little to do with them. After all, the only reason they had met in the first place was Headless. Maybe she saw a little tiny part of herself in him... someone lost and not knowing what to do, just looking for that one person to show them they wasn't crazy and that they were strong enough to take on the world if they chose to do so.

But Jenny was right. So far all he had done was hide and cower away. Who's to say he wouldn't do the same if it came down to saving the world together or just letting her take it all upon herself? Self-preservation was _strong_ in that one and she doubted he would jump feet first into a fray to save the world, much less _her_.

She just needed to keep her head on straight and keep him distracted while she saved the world. And she had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly how to distract him. Especially after the day she escaped from her recovering from being attacked by Molly.

“Hey Jenny, are you still good friends with that lady that makes the re-enactment costumes?” Abbie asked.

“Caroline?” Jenny asked. “Yeah why?”

Abbie grinned wickedly. “I want to get fitted for a corset. And tell Joe I am ready to take up his offer on funding.”

  
#  


Ichabod froze outside of the masonic cell to glare at the two massive figures guarding the door. It wouldn't be so bad if the Siren wasn't humming her normal little tune. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes before addressing the guards. “You have followed my orders to the letter this time?” he asked. “You are certain you did not restrain her hands behind her back?” Both goons shook their heads. “Over her head?” Another negative. “Within reach of any article of clothing she is wearing or any part of her person?”

“No, sir,” one of them replied. “We did exactly as you said, sir.”

“Her hands are nowhere near each other?” Ichabod asked. They both shook their heads with conviction. “I swear upon all which is holy and pure... if she attacks me and escapes this is on _your_ heads this time. And you will go before Molly--” he shook his head to clear it. “ _Moloch_ yourselves to explain your incompetence.” He glanced at the exit. “Go.”

Ichabod waited until they lumbered out to enter the cell. Just as they had said, her wrists were secured nowhere near each other and nowhere within each of any part of her person. She was, however, grasping the short chains, leaning forward so they were taunt, and swaying merrily as she hummed a jovial little tune which was different from her customary one. His eyes roamed down her form. 

She didn't seem at all perturbed by being caught yet again. In fact she seemed to be enjoying herself, which Ichabod found a multitude more disturbing. He much preferred she be angry at a least a little.

The guards apparently had to give her a box to stand on so they could properly secure her. Her costume was much different from the one he was accustomed to. His tongue involuntarily darted out to moisten his lips as he took a moment to appreciate the lovely curves her new ensemble accentuated.

She was wearing a corset, a deep rich green in colour, edged with black lace. He wasn't entirely sure what to call the black trousers she wore but they clung to her as a second skin and disappeared into boots that encased her calves. Even her mask was new and did not have the normal stretchy band to keep it in place. He was tempted to touch it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

The Siren drew her bottom lip between her teeth and chuckled softly. A little smirk appeared when he continued to let his eyes slowly rove over her. “You like what you see, Captain?” 

“Indeed,” Ichabod murmured, stepping closer to trail his fingers along the the curve of her bare shoulder. She hummed softly and tilted her head so he could continue drawing his path up the side of her neck. “You are... a very beautiful woman.”

It had become a bit of a game between them, as of late... to pretend their battles were _sensual_ in nature. It had gone non-stop since he had helped her recover from Moloch's attack. Every time she showed up to thwart whatever misdeed and demon that was afoot, they would somehow end up with their hands all over each other. 

To be quite fair, Ichabod felt she knew he was so starved for affection and physical contact that he would be easily distracted in such a manner. Why else would she have brought him his wife from the depths of Purgatory when she was the only one with the means to do so? Why else would she had changed to wearing something that displayed so much of her lovely brown skin and showed off her curves? 

He needed to pull himself together and resist. He could _not_ permit her to have the advantage.

“What would the wifey say if she heard you talking like that to another woman?” Siren asked.

Ichabod pulled his hand back and his fingers twitched from desire to touch the generous mounds of skin jutting from the bust of her corset. Good Lord, surely she was trying to kill him? “If she dared to say anything I would remind her she lost the right to do so when she betrayed me by having relations with Horseman of Death--”

“ _Ew_. Really?” Siren asked, scrunching her nose. “How does that even _work_? He has no head and... the stump just looks all... ew. Just thinking about it...” she shuddered. Her eyes danced with amusement.

For a moment it occurred to Ichabod that part of the reason he enjoyed these little moments with the Siren was because, quite honestly, she never seemed to take them seriously. He'd had to fight to keep his features schooled into being impassive despite the fact he wanted to share the delight she felt at her little quips toward his associates and even himself”. Although it did bare to question, “Do you take anything about our conflicts seriously, Siren?”

She shook her head and leaned back against the stone wall. “Well, there is one thing...”

“And what would that one thing be, pray tell?” he asked. 

“We're up to ten dinners again, Captain,” she said with a grin. “I think maybe you should consider paying off your debt a little before getting in any more. Preferably without me getting hurt this time. Because I don't think your wife likes me too much. Well... at least I get that impression with how she was tossing fireballs at me the other day.”

He met her eyes and smirked. Of course she would take one of the least significant matters seriously. If she could pretend it was the most important thing at the moment, he could certainly play along. Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked The Siren over again. “And _where_ would you have me feast myself, Siren?” 

Her cockiness faltered for a brief moment, like she had expected him to ignore her comments about how many dinners he owed her, as he had always done. She sucked in a deep breath and held it. After a moment she recovered and laughed softly. “Why don't you come a little closer and show me what you had in mind, Captain?” she replied, her voice lustfully heavy. “I'm sure we could work something out with a little negotiating.”

The box she had been provided had lifted her up enough that they were almost the same height. Surprisingly she was still slightly shorter than him with the box. Ichabod stepped close enough to lean in toward her. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Upon first glance, I have three options...” he murmured. “First being... your gorgeously sinful mouth.”

The Siren hummed softly. “Conventional choice,” she purred. “If you do a decent job, you would pay off one dinner. If you do really good, two maybe three.”

“Make it _three_ I will kiss you breathless,” Ichabod whispered hotly against her mouth. “Until your toes curl and you _shiver_ with anticipation.”

“And what would I be anticipating, Captain?” the Siren asked.

“Option Two, obviously,” he replied. He trailed his fingers down her neck and finally allowed himself to touch the soft skin of her breasts, straining in the corset. He followed the path slowly, with his lips, barely grazing her skin. She shivered and released a ragged breath as she hooked one of her legs around his waist. The heel of her boot pushed against the back of his knee and he had to throw his hands up and brace them against the wall behind her to prevent collapsing from the sheer elation at _someone_ being eager for his touch.

Who was he kidding? He had been wanting to touch his lovely Siren in such a manner for some time and had only dreamt of her being so receptive. Except when he dreamt of it, it had been back when he was in his own time and he was a much more self-assured man. When he truly was _Captain_ Ichabod Crane... and not some... displaced man who feared his own shadow would try to betray him.

A soft moan escaped the Siren's mouth when he lightly nipped at her breast. He returned to her ear and softly inquired, “And if I were to gorge myself upon your lovely bosom... How many would be removed from my debt?”

“Four... five,” the Siren breathed. “If done alone. If done in conjunction with option one... six?” She arched against him. “What else you got to offer, Captain?”

His hands ghosted down her sides and he grasped her backside, pulling her flush against him. She gasped softly then hummed appreciatively. “I like where this is heading,” she said with a low throaty chuckle. “Tell me more, Captain.”

“Option three is very similar to option one,” Ichabod replied. “Except it takes place much closer to where my hands are currently located.”

Even with the mask, Ichabod could tell her eyebrows had arched with interest. “Ooh... Front or back?” the Siren asked.

“Whichever the lady prefers,” Ichabod said.

“But see, that can be tricky,” the Siren retorted. “Do it well and it could be an easy ten and your debt is paid in full. Do a bad job and we're looking at maybe a one... Didn't think you colonial types were into that kind of thing...”

“First of all, how _dare_ you imply I would dream of leaving the lady unsatisfied...” He slid a hand behind her neck, cradling her head in the palm of his hand as he leaned in, close enough to kiss her if he chose to do so. He was about to continue when a sharp voice came from the doorway of the cell.

“ _Ichabod_!”

He jumped and quickly stepped away from the Siren. “K-Katrina... I...”

“And that's my cue,” the Siren stated. Ichabod looked toward her in time to see her slide her hands out of the manacles and let them fall hard against the wall. “By the way you may want to tell your boys those are meant for ankles.”

She dashed out, leaving Ichabod in a very uncomfortable situation with his wife. The betrayal on her face said it all, compounded with the knowledge that she was a witch, he quickly put together his defence. “She is very obviously a very powerful witch as well. An Enchantress, no doubt!” He nodded solemnly. “Even her title says I all... the Siren ensnares men with a song... and... and... lures them to do her bidding. I warrant, had you not arrived when you had, I would surely have been dead soon.”

Katrina tilted her chin defiantly. He had a feeling his demise was about to come in the form of his wife using magic to strangle him from across the room. “Are you absolutely certain?” she asked.

Ichabod nodded slowly. “Yes. That is the _only_ logical explanation for why... I... was... so _enraptured_ by her when I have _you_ by my side, my love. And the guards, I warrant she ensnared them as well and willed them to... secure her in a manner which she could easily escape.” He stepped over and took her hands. “Even now I feel as though a fog has lifted from my mind...”

His wife searched his face for a moment and he prayed she could not see through his lie. “Very well,” Katrina replied after a moment. “We shall have to make certain it is only I which has confrontation with her. We cannot risk you or any of the other men being enamoured by her charms again.”

Without further comment, Katrina turned and stormed out of the cell. Ichabod slowly stepped out into the smaller chamber between the corridors and the cell, staring at the door that led out. He held his hand out toward the table not too far from him. “When you leave... instead of going right and returning to the manor, go left. Follow the path until you have only the option of left or right. If you go left, it shall take you to just outside of town. Go right and you will find yourself in the police archives. I am certain you have the equipment necessary to release the lock on the door.”

A small hand slipped into his and the Siren slipped out from under the table. She regarded him for a moment. “I could hear them talking down the way so I hid ... I'm not a witch. I mean I can do a few basic spells...”

“I know,” Ichabod said quietly. “But _they_ do not.” He brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed it. “Now, go... we shall resume this battle another day.”

She gave him a small curtsey and hurried out, leaving him wondering when or if they would get to meet again.

  
#  


Abbie was pouring over several books and maps along with her sister and Joe at the office. Their time was limited. They had to find out what was about to happen. Things had been getting progressively worse around Sleepy Hollow for the past few weeks. People were actually starting to notice some of the odd things.

If it hadn't been for Captain Irving getting involved, things probably would have already been blown heavily out of proportions. Even worse another _Captain_ seemed to be MIA for the past few days. 

Oh sure, Abbie still had to take on the Goth Family Robinson, but the Captain had been decidedly missing. Even Joe didn't know where he was, which was saying something since the guy had previously constantly been texting Joe. But for the past four days... nothing from the Captain. Not even an accidental butt dial, which happened more often than one would think. They had actually gotten a lot of information that way.

Thankfully they'd had a leg up on them for the most part due to all the help they were getting with the private investigating.

Ancient spirit here, succubus there, type deals who were all too proud to boast about what was going on. It was like they all went to the same convention and learned how to be bad guys. After a few bewitched maps and hitting a fucking treasure trove of literature guarded by some really creepy creatures that Jenny was helping her to copy—the literature, not the creatures—Abbie could safely say they had an advantage. She had even gotten to tell off a hologram type thing of Thomas Jefferson a couple of times which was always fun to do when she was having a bad day.

She had already sent Moloch screeching back from whence he came as well as the Captain's son—which she was still trying to figure out how the hell his son looked old enough to be his dad. Joe said she didn't want to know. He knew and _he_ didn't want to know so he knew damn sure she didn't want to know. All he would say was “stupid bullshit that doesn't even make sense when you sit down and think about it.”

_“Seriously,” Joe had said. “It's like a bunch of writers got together to work a family drama into some weird genre show but none of them actually sat down and talked about what they were going to do so it's all over the damn place.”_

Abbie had chosen to just take his word for it after that. She snapped her fingers in Joe's direction. “You said they were saying something about... changing something in the past, right?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied. “I couldn't get all of it because the Captain set off some kind of explosion outside so I had to go make sure he hadn't hurt himself. When they had me lock him in his room, that was the last time I--” Joe's phone beeped numerous times. He frowned and pulled his phone from his pocket. After looking to see what he had been getting messages about, he peered at Abbie. “Speak of the devil. It's _him_. Finally. They're getting ready to do something tonight. They're holding someone in the masonic cell that will be instrumental to what's happening... He's asking if I could come help.”

A wicked grin spread across Abbie's lips. “Instrumental you say? It'd be a shame if they went missing from the cell.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Joe retorted. 

“Jenny...” Abbie said. 

Jenny stopped her with a dual thumbs up. “Things that go boom. Got it. I'll call Irving and see what he can get us.”

“I will go ahead and head over to the manor and text you with any information I can get,” Joe said, already grabbing his leather jacket off of a nearby chair. As soon as they were gone, Abbie nipped into the back to suit up.

  
#  


Ichabod dropped the cellular device as soon as his texting missives showed as 'sent' and 'delivered.' The Good Lord alone knew how many days he had been locked up in the masonic cell. They had not taken too kindly to him off setting small explosions in the _yard_ to try and draw attention. So they had decided to lock him in the cell so he wouldn't be “tempted to cause any problems.”

As though he were some belligerent child having an tantrum. Although going on a two hour rant, prior to setting off the explosion, about how he was sick and tired of all of their behaviours and his feelings probably hadn't helped.

His capturers had been rather inconsistent with remembering he was there and required food despite the fact one of them was supposed to be his _wife_.

When they had arrived a few hours ago, they were at least kind enough to ask if he had any final requests before they brought about the Apocalypse. They had turned down his request to be released but had retrieved his cellular device which he knew to have last been on its charger in his room. Since none of them really knew how to operate the device, it had been untouched and was at full battery.

He'd had just enough reception to send his missives, which was all he had wanted... begging young Master Corbin, if he was able, to come rescue him from the cell and to tread carefully. Unfortunate for him, he lacked tiny hands like the Siren to just slip out of his manacles and he also lacked the special tool in which to pick a lock and the knowledge of how to use said tool. Not to mention he was fairly certain her abnormally small hands made it much easier to manipulate her wrists to actually reach the lock.

That was when something caught his eye. It was just within his reach or just out of it, he wasn't certain which. It was one of the lock picking tools the Siren always had hidden somewhere on her person. Had she dropped it during one of their _many_ chats in the cell? Surely it wouldn't be too terribly hard to free himself...

Could he reach it?

It had taken a lot of effort, but he was eventually able to reach it by laying on his side and dragging it closer with the toe of his boot, until he could reach it with his hands. Now, to see if he could figure it out before young Master Corbin arrived.

  
#  


Abbie stopped short as soon as she entered the masonic cell. The Captain was rattling the chains on his wrist with frustration, his back toward her as he swore at the restraints. He frozen and slowly looked over his shoulder at her when she snorted. “Oh just bloody wonderful,” he groaned. “Insult to injury. You are the very last person I _wanted_ to show up.”

“My, my, my, how the tables have turned Captain,” Abbie purred, leaning against the door jamb. She folded her arms over her chest and just watched the pure fury flitter over his face as he tried continued to try and pick the lock. This was just too much of a gorgeous moment to waste. “I take it you were expecting someone else to come rescue you?”

“Actually, yes, I was,” he huffed.

She pushed away from the jamb and swaggered over to him slowly before circling him like a predator after its prey. “What _have_ we _here_ ,” she said, mimicking his deep baritone and accent. She clasped her hands behind her back and jutted her nose into the air. “It _seems_ as though, at long last, I have you _precisely_ where I want you...”

He scowled and huffed with indignation. “You have the accent wrong. That is _clearly_ a cockney accent.” His glare was unwavering as he watched her march around him sternly. “I am by no means _amused_ by your theatrics, Siren,” he grumbled. His eye started twitching when the lock pick snapped in two.

“Ha!” Abbie piped, still relentlessly mocking him. She templed her fingers and tapped them against each other diabolically. “And it seems, for once, you cannot escape.”

“Please stop.” He lowered his gaze, his eyes squeezing shut as he shook his head.

“How do you assume to escape _this time_ , Captain?” Abbie continued.

“This is not funny,” he commented, but the slight waver in his tone said otherwise. “The moment is most dire... The world is about to end. A small amount of seriousness would be much appreciated.” When he looked up at her, Abbie could tell he was conflicted between wanting to be stern and serious and wanting to laugh at her antics.

Abbie stood in front of him, hands upon her hips, peering down her nose at him as he had done her so many times it was bordering ridiculous. His eyes widened and he stilled when she softly touched her finger to his lips. “I'm not done yet. Shhh,” she hissed as she slid her free hand into his coat to trace the contours of his chest then reached around and grabbed a handful of his ass. His eyes widened and he made a surprised sound. “I still ave to paw all over you and say things like... I cannot help but wonder if that fire in your eyes is because you ache for your revenge or... perhaps you _burn_ with desire.”

She could suddenly understand why he enjoyed doing things the way they did. There was something oddly gratifying about toying with someone who obviously didn't mind what was going on and having them at your mercy. Abbie wondered if he was getting as worked up as she did when it was the other way around.

He nuzzled his face against her cleavage, moaned softly, and then trailed a path to her neck with the tip of his tongue. He lunged forward, when she stood to her full height and stepped back. He looked more than a little punch drunk—eyes darkened with lust. Well, she was pretty sure it he was feeling the “burning desire” option. Okay so she also knew which one it was for herself too but that was beside the point. She reminded herself that he was willing to just let the world burn and so her “desires” would have to go unstated. 

He was at the end of his chained tether, on his knees, straining to get near her again. “I know where my wife is going to _do her thing_ , as you would say. She is going to travel back to 1781 and alter history so that the apocalypse takes place in the past, where you cannot hope to fight against her, Moloch, or the others.”

Abbie arched her eyebrows. Ah, so that was the secret to getting him to blab about the evil plans. She needed to shove her boobs in his face more often if it got these kind of results. “What else?” she asked.

“Oh, so _now_ wish to take things seriously? Once you've addled my mind with your touch and flooded my senses with that... delightful scent you wear. What is that? It drives me _mad_...” The Captain growled. He clamped his mouth shut and collected himself. A wicked grin touched his lips. “You shall have to torment it out of me Siren. I shall not yield any further secrets,” he drawled.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. His eyes dipped to her chest and he moistened his lips. Abbie didn't know how it was possible but it seemed like his eyes got even darker when she grasped a fistful of his hair and tugged back hard. “How do I stop her?” Abbie asked.

His response got muffled when he buried his face in the soft mounds of flesh peeping from the bust of her corset. Abbie pulled back on his hair again and he softly moaned, “Oh you sinful woman...”

“How do I stop her?” Abbie repeated and stepped back.

“Release me and I can...” his eyes raked over her as he carefully considered his next words. “...take you to her and you can stop her,” the Captain rasped. When he spoke again, his voice was softly pitched and he spoke rapidly. “Probably with ridiculous ease. She's not even that powerful of a witch. She's actually just relearned many things. I was just awed by the fact she _is_ a witch to be honest. I've seen more powerful ones than her and you dealt with them quite handily. So it shouldn't be any problem at all.”

Well weren't those just two perfect little peas in an ineffective villain pod, Abbie thought with amusement. “Okay... I'll let you go,” she murmured. “But only if you promise to take me to where she is, so I can stop her.”

The Captain nodded in a daze. “Oh yes... yes certainly. Your wish is my command.”

Abbie pulled a lock pick from a little pocket sew into the bust of her corset and knelt down. She pulled the broken bit of metal from the lock and carefully inserted her pick. The Captain sighed softly. “You are...” he whispered.

“A beautiful woman?” Abbie asked. “Yes, I know. You say it almost every time you have me at your mercy.”

“Somehow I doubt I have ever truly had you at my mercy,” he murmured. “More often than not, I feel it 'tis I who am at yours.” He met her eyes. “I would love to invite you to my bed and show you what it would _truly_ be like to be at my mercy.”

She arched a brow at him. “Down boy. I have a world to save,” she said warily, hoping her mask hid at least a little bit of the heat flooding her face. Although his word choice had not gone unnoticed to her. He wanted to _invite_ her to his bed, meaning he wanted her in it willingly. _Not gonna happen_ , Abbie thought.

  
#  


Of all the impulsive and insane things that could have happened... the Siren following Katrina back to 1781 had to have been the most surprising. Although, in the same breath, it was completely unsurprising. There was a stillness to the air once the two women disappeared. The kind of stillness born of a violent storm that had just passed... or just as the eye of the storm hit.

They had barely made it in time. Ichabod had thought perhaps all the Siren would have to do was stop Katrina from finishing the spell. But the dark magic she had been learning proved to be slightly harder to contend with. It was partially his fault Katrina had turned to dark magic. All she had been able to tout about was that she was becoming stronger, stronger than the Siren. Even when Katrina had used a blast of energy to knock him back, she had asked if her skills surpassed the Siren's.

Magic or not, Ichabod felt like Katrina could never hope to be stronger than the Siren. The Siren could probably take out an entire coven on sheer tenacity alone.

Then static filled the air, crackling like the moment before lightning struck. Both women reappeared, staggering from disorientation, recovering, then facing each other. Katrina pulled a small dagger from a sheath at her side, her eyes wild with anger. The Siren reached behind her. In the dim lighting of the warehouse, Ichabod knew the moment her fingers closed around the hilt of the blade she kept there. 

The cursed blade that gave her inhuman strength and agility. 

The Siren crouched low, her eyes taking on a surreal fiery glow, a cold smile spread across her lips. She spoke to Katrina in a language that had died aeons before mankind learned to read or write. The translation for her words rested at the very far reaches of his memory, having had it run through his own mind the one time he had taken up the same dagger to fight Molly.

_The witch shall die tonight_.

The two women lunged toward each other at the same time. The Siren easily threw the witch over her shoulder and slammed her onto the hard floor, sending Katrina's pitiful excuse of a dagger sliding off into the shadows. She stood over Katrina as the witch coughed to regain her breath. The Siren raised her dagger then let out a mighty yell as she threw herself down.

At the last moment, a burst of energy hit the smaller woman and knocked her across the room, the blade falling next to Katrina. Katrina rolled over onto her stomach and grasped the hilt of the dagger with a wicked gleam in her eyes. This was followed by surprise look in her eyes when nothing happened.

The Siren picked herself up off the floor. “It only works for the Witnesses,” she groused.

Katrina clamoured to her feet, looked toward him and smiled sweetly before casting it the dagger his direction, sliding it across the floor, as the Siren ran toward her.

Out of sheer soldier's reflex, he grasped it. The last thing he recalled before loosing complete control of his facilities was Katrina breathlessly saying, “And you are not the only Witness _here_.”

  
#  


Abbie leapt onto the red-head's back and locked her arm around the woman's throat. She was dimly aware of the Captain climbing to his feet. It was only his second time wielding the dagger so she knew it would take a minute for it to completely take him over. She, herself, had just become so accustomed to surrendering to the darkness that she didn't even have to be touching it for it to start taking her over.

She had plenty of time to asphyxiate Katrina then figure out how the hell to get out of fighting the Captain _without_ dying. Or so she thought.

Unfortunately the witch bit her and threw her off. Abbie threw herself back toward the taller woman, who had regained possession of her own knife. She caught Katrina's wrists as she tried to bring the dagger down on her with a killing blow. Small and slight she may be, but Abbie knew damn well she had the red-head on physical strength, which was what mattered up until the witch uttered a spell and Abbie felt every muscle in her body tense.

Shit. She was done. She knew it. Especially when she saw the Captain, cursed dagger in hand looking her way. Everything that happened next happened so fast, time seemed to stand still. When she had a moment to reflect, much later, it occurred to her that it was the first time she had ever truly been terrified of him. There had been nothing in the instructions that stated one Witness couldn't use the blade to kill the other one—in fact the angel that gave it to her may have even suggested it had come to that once or twice.

“Who is the strong one, now?” Katrina whispered softly in her ear.

The Captain charged toward them, his eyes were like the embers of a fire. Hues of dark red flecked with yellows and oranges. Abbie closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She knew it was over the moment she felt her breath rush from her lungs, his arm wrapping around her waist, his empty hand in the middle of her back.

She staggered away and fell to the floor. Abbie looked up as she tried to recapture her breath. The Captain had just saved her life. The dagger was buried in Katrina's gut, a look of betrayal on her face. With a twist of his wrist, the witch let out a soft, whimpering sound and the Captain let go of the hilt of the dagger.

He watched, wide-eyed but somehow still expressionless as Katrina dissolved into the ashes and the dagger fell to the floor. After a moment, he slumped to the floor, curling himself into tight human ball. Abbie cautiously moved closer to him and lightly placed her hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

He lifted his head, bewildered and shook his head. “You are not to blame,” he replied, barely above a whisper. “ _Go_. I am uncertain whether the Horseman is near or not. I alone will deal with the ramifications of this night if he comes.” He took her hand off of his shoulder, cradled it in both of his as he kissed her fingers. “Perhaps next time I shall be brave enough to fight at your side.”

Abbie shook her head. “No... I'm not going to...”

“Go,” he repeated, this time more sternly.

Abbie stood, retrieved the dagger and placed it in the sheath. She knew it would have no effect at that moment because there wasn't anyone or anything she was wanting to fight. Her head jerked toward the left as she saw three figures running toward her: Joe, Jenny, and Irving.

“Stay safe,” she said and made her exit. “Make sure he gets home okay.”

  
#  


Ichabod kept his hands in his lap as the others buzzed around the manor. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon. He had attended church services with Nurse Latisha, her lovely new bride—a surprisingly petite Japanese woman named Carol—and their young daughter Melody. They had been more than delighted to prepare a “proper Sunday dinner” at the manor because Carol loved his kitchen. Young Master Corbin, Miss Jenny, and Captain Frank Irving in attendance.

It had been a few weeks since the Apocalypse had been thwarted. He had yet to see the Horseman. He also had yet to shake the feeling of numbness from his soul. Yet, somehow, he felt free of _something_. He found himself to be quite jumpy anytime someone reached out to touch him, mostly because he was so accustomed to everyone avoiding doing so. Pat on the back from Irving, a hug from Melody, hand shake from Joseph, hugs from Latisha, kisses on the cheek from Carol. The only one that kept their distance was Miss Jenny, for which he was actually somewhat grateful.

Mostly because he knew she didn't like him. Although he couldn't fathom why. There was but one other he would have liked to have in attendance but he knew _she_ would not show, especially with the Captain of the Sheriff's Department being there. 

He had found himself a quiet corner of the manor to catch his breath, listening to the laughter and on-goings on the other side of the estate with a small smile on his lips. That was when he heard it... the soft _La da da dee da da da da_ coming from somewhere outside in the rose garden. Before he could stop himself, his feet had propelled him out of the manor and around the back to see if he could locate the Siren.

He came upon her, in the middle of her trying to pick a massive lock that led to the cellar. “What are you doing?”

She was instantly on her feet and turned to face him. “How did you even know I was out here?” she asked accusingly, as though he had done something wrong and not just caught her trying to break into his home.

“I heard you singing,” he replied.

The Siren snorted. “I wasn't singing...”

_Of course she would deny it_. “Perhaps it was simply a stroke of luck and fate which brought me here as you attempted to break into my cellar,” Ichabod amended. “Just so you are aware, Siren, the Captain of the Sheriff's Department is in my home, partaking in Sunday dinner.”

She folded her arms over her chest and fluttered her lashes. “You think you're so clever,” she purred. “I already you were going to have guests today. I knew you would be distracted, which is _why_ I am here today.” Her eyes fell to a large rock at the edge of the pathway. She leaned down to pick it up then turned back to the cellar and smashed the lock with the rock.

It fell apart with in surrender after only two strikes. The Siren tossed down the rock and cleared the broken bits from the chain securing the cellar closed.

“That was _my_ property, I shall have you know.”

She scoffed. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked, turning to face him again. “Huh? Nothing? You gonna spank me? You're to far in debt to even think about carrying me off to the masonic cell... and for some reason I don't think you're going to be wanting to work off the debt any ti—Oh!” 

Her eyes widened as he pulled her close, her hands falling onto his arms to steady herself. “You assume too much, Siren. I am more than willing to resume negotiations.”

“Well, see, therein lies a problem,” the Siren said softly. “It will be _very hard_ for you to use any of those options as fair terms of negotiation.” She patted his chest. “Mostly because you would have to try damn hard to make a 3 on option one when I've already had 'all of the above.' You'd never repay your debt. Looks like you just have to buy me dinner.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled slowly and pulled away from him. The Siren yanked one of the cellar doors open and stepped down inside. She looked over her shoulder with a flirtatious smile as she gave him a small salute. “What happens in 1781. Stays in 1781, Captain.” 

She took a few steps down and turned to start pulling the door closed behind her. He stood there, dumbfounded, finger raised as though ready to give her a lecture, but he was gapping his mouth like a fish.

“Don't try to think about it too hard,” she teased. “You'll give yourself an aneurysm. But, I have to go see if a few things are still down here. Can't be too sure with the whole... twistory-history can be rewritten and rebooted thing.” With a wink she disappeared and the cellar door clapped shut.

Ichabod was still standing there gapping when Joe found him. “Everything all right?” Joe asked, clapping his hand onto Ichabod's shoulder.

“Master Corbin,” Ichabod said slowly. “If one says 'what happens in 1781, stays in 1781'... what precisely does that imply?”

“You know how Carol was talking about her Bachelorette party in Atlantic City from her first marriage?” Joe responded. “Usually it's stuff like that.”

Ichabod gasped quietly. He let Joe lead him back inside, despite the fact he was trying very hard to wrap his head around the implication that he and the Siren had engaged in a... _steamy tryst_ whilst she had gone to the past.


End file.
